Melancholy
by ausland
Summary: It's a grey, rainy day, and Hermione Granger sits at a window, in a melancholy mood. Draco Malfoy is wandering the halls of Hogwarts after his first failed attempt on Dumbledore's life. They are both intelligent people- what would a civil conversation between them change? If a pureblood can put aside his prejudices and a muggleborn her pride, what would the result be?
1. Part One

**Happy Birthday, Gwen!** **Bonne Aniversaire!**

**This story, my first ever Draco/Hermione, is for my very own wonderful cousin. Much love from across the pond from your best cousin!**

**Part Two will come out later!**

* * *

A bleak, dreary day dawned cold and rainy in middle of November, torrents of rain beating down on the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. No one stayed outside for long- Care of Magical Creatures had been cancelled, and Herbology students were racing through the mud to take shelter under the greenhouses.

A small girl, a woman really, was curled up in one of the many windows in Hogwarts that had a stone ledge wide enough to sit on. She had to be cold- gooseflesh covered her bare legs and she was shivering slightly. Her riotous hair filled the space between her head and the wall as she gazed out into the stormy day, arms wrapped around her knees. The Gryffindor tie was perfectly knotted, as usual, her shirt crisp and tucked into her skirt neatly, and her prefect's badge gleamed red and gold on her black robes. But something wasn't right about Hermione Granger.

Her face was drawn, expressionless as she stared down at the frothing lake and the muddied grass. The large brown eyes that were normally alight with either quiet intelligence or vivacious passion had dulled, for whatever reason, and her teeth were worrying one corner of her small pink mouth.

The brisk tap of elegant shoes on stone floor didn't even faze the Gryffindor- it was only when the footsteps stopped and the man making them stared at her that she looked away from the rain.

"Granger?" he asked incredulously. "What extreme emergency dragged you away from classes? A fire? Hurricane? An envelope full of pus again?"

Hermione sighed, a spark of anger lighting her eyes before it faded and she turned her attention back to the window. "You're not in class either, Malfoy."

The blonde aristocrat eyed her warily. "What? No ferret jokes?"

"You must be mistaking me for Harry," Hermione said, a hint of humor in her voice. "Although if you miss it… I can certainly oblige." Her eyes flickered toward him, and she gave him a wry half smile. Something was moving behind it though- a thought, or an emotion just behind the curve of her lips.

Draco Malfoy folded his arms, leaning against the other side of the window. His piercing grey eyes scanned her defenseless pose; she had yet to even make a move toward her wand. She just sat, breathing so slowly he could hardly see her chest rise. (Of course he was looking. He was Draco Malfoy, a healthy, red-blooded young wizard.)

"Where are the Potty and the Weasel?" he said half-heartedly, tilting his head to look at Granger disinterestedly. He didn't want his curiosity to show- but if Potter was fighting with his pet brain… His father- if he could pass this information on to his father-

He had expected to her to stiffen, and attack like the kitten she was. Instead, she just shrugged. "We aren't attached at the hip."

He snorted, relaxing a fraction against the cold, hard wall at his back. "And they can remember to breathe without you reminding them every three seconds?"

"No," Hermione replied, face straight. "But I wrote it on Lavender's arse to make sure Ron doesn't forget."

Draco was so surprised, he let out a short bark of laughter. "I didn't know you had a sense of humor, Granger."

"I didn't know you knew my last name, Malfoy," she countered, meeting his mercury gaze with eyes so dark, they appeared black set in her pale face. But he knew they were honey and chocolate, tawny gold. "Calling me a Mudblood doesn't amuse you anymore?"

That made Draco uncomfortable, and he looked away, to the cold day outside the window. Raindrops ran down the glass, the beads falling faster as the rain picked up. The trees didn't sway in the wind- the seemed battered by it, cowering from the fists of water pounding down on them. "I've been reminded recently that the walls have ears, Granger."

She smirked. "Wise, Malfoy. You never know when a little bug might be listening." Her eyes flashed, and darted over to him before returning to an impassive state.

Luckily, he could control when he flushed. "Indeed."

"So why are you out of class?" Hermione asked suddenly, glancing toward him again. There was a flicker of curiosity in her face, a slight lift of the eyebrows, a tilt of the head.

He regarded her imperiously through hooded eyes. "I didn't feel like it." _I need to work on a way of getting my fellow Death Eaters into the school so that they can kill you while I kill Dumbledore._

"Me either," Hermione said, sadness drifting across her face. "Today is a melancholy day."

Draco frowned, scanning her face. "What?" The pattering of the raindrops nearly drowned out her voice, and she had spoken in such a quiet tone it would have been hard to make out in the first place.

"Melancholy, Malfoy," she repeated. "A pervading sense of sadness."

He caught on quickly- whatever Draco Malfoy was, at least he was also intelligent. "A long lasting, pervading depression." Arms still folded loosely across his chest, he projected haughtiness as he asked the first tugging question that leapt to the forefront. "What does the Gryffindor golden girl have to be depressed about?"

"Wouldn't you like to know, Malfoy," she asked sarcastically, resting her head on the rainy window.

He shrugged. "I would, actually," he answered. _Any information you give me might save my father a Crucio later._

She was surprised at that. Slowly, she turned her large brown eyes on him. "Do you ever wonder if we are going to make it out of this war alive?" Her voice was steady- he knew if he had asked the same question in her position, his voice would have cracked or trembled.

"War?" He hated sounding clueless, but he wondered how Granger would react. "I-"

Tossing her hair back, she finally looked at him with her old fire in her eyes. "Don't act the fool, Malfoy. You know we're moving closer and closer to the epicenter of the greatest war the Wizarding world has known since the 1940's. The last time we've seen anything this bad was fifteen years ago, and the blubbering masses are still afraid to say the instigator's name."

The bitterness in her voice was surprising. "We have yet to-"

"No," Hermione snapped. "This has begun. Or did Daddy forget to tell you about the fun we had at the Ministry? One of his friends gave me a pretty little scar, I'm sure he would have mentioned that?"

That gave him pause. He knew about the disastrous excursion to the Ministry- it was why his father was in Azkaban for Merlin's sake- but he had forgotten Granger had gotten hurt. He thought back to those painful, humiliating days after the O.W.L.'s. Granger hadn't been seen until the train ride home. It was possible that she was in the Hospital Wing in that time.

"If there is a war, then we are on opposite-" he stopped quickly, eyes narrowing. "You can't trick me that easily, Granger."

She glanced up at him, then laughed. "I wasn't trying to trick you, Malfoy," she replied, baring her teeth. "I just asked a simple question. Do you think you are going to get out of this alive?"

He considered his options for a moment- he was a Slytherin, after all. He could make a blithe comment about the slipperiness of snakes, or the affluence (desperately faded now, but what did Granger know about the intricacies of pureblood society?) of the Malfoys, or- he could tell the truth.

"No."

This surprised her- her eyes widened and her mouth rounded slightly. But the she smiled in the same way she had been smiling. A melancholy smile. "Me either."

"Then why stay?" he asked, moving from leaning against the wall to sitting at the opposite end of the window seat. He felt the urge to lean forward intently, but shoved it back as he tried to maintain (any sort) of his dignity. "You know how to live as a Muggle- and you have no ties to the Wizarding World. You could leave- move to France, hop across the pond to the United States, hell, go to Brazil! You could get away from this madness that-"

She glared at him, stopping him in his tracks. "I couldn't leave. I promised Harry- so did Ron. We'll stick with him the bitter end no matter what."

"How sentimental," he sneered. "I would never have thought that a girl with your intelligence would stay in a dangerous _war-zone_ for _friendship_."

"And I would never have thought a boy as smart as you are would make a mistake as glaringly obvious and that necklace," Hermione shot back. It was almost comical, she thought, to see the horror and realization going through him.

Draco's mouth went dry, and he could feel the blood rushing in his ears. _She knows. She knows I have to kill-_

"Of course I figured it out," Hermione said, almost gently. "I don't know what your final aim is, Malfoy, but try not to put innocent people in the way next time. And-" she broke off, looking outside again before meeting his silvery eyes. "That necklace could have killed Katie. That leads me to the conclusion that you wanted to kill someone-"

"Who wants to kill anyone?" he hissed at her, anger coursing through his body. She acted like she understood him, like she knew what it was like, as if-

She raised an eyebrow. "All of this is conjecture, if it makes you feel any better," she said pinning him with a knowing stare. "Anyway, for some reason, unknown to me, you were trying to smuggle a dangerous cursed object into the castle. Presumably to result in someone's death. And because the only th-two people in the castle worth killing are totally obvious, I'm going to guess Dumbledore because you could have gotten Harry in Hogsmeade."

Her powers of deduction were frightening him. They didn't call her the brightest witch of the age for nothing. But even as he wondered how he could get out of this one, she continued. "I may be wrong," she was saying quietly. "I'm hoping I am. You're not a killer, Malfoy. And Albus Dumbledore-"

"Do not presume to know what I am," he whispered harshly. "And saying all this in broad daylight, in the middle of a corridor-"

Hermione smiled self-depreciatingly. "That would be pretty stupid, if that was what was actually going on. I know a handy little spell that insures privacy. We can hear out, no one else can hear in. And considering anyone standing outside the window would have to know some way of eavesdropping at least- we're on the sixth floor, so let's say fifty-five feet up in the air, and in this weather."

"And what makes you think I wouldn't just Oblivate you here and now?" he asked, stomach twisting as he thought about it. He wasn't quite sure it was wise to threaten Hermione Granger, but he would try anyway.

Of course, she called his bluff. "You could, I suppose," Hermione said with a shrug. "At the moment, I can't seem to find enough energy to care. And I would just think it all over again later and come up with the same theory."

"What makes you think it was me?" he asked finally, at a loss for words. "What reasons could you possibly use to pin this on me?"

Hermione sighed, pressing the side of her head to the chilly window. "Several. Madame Malkins. Borgin and Burkes. The fact that you purposely got detention on the first Hogsmeade weekend. Professor McGonagall never lets anyone get away with not doing their homework and you failed to turn it in twice."

While he was floundering for words, she sighed again, closing her eyes for a long moment before slowly opening them again. "So what are you going to do now?"

"What do you mean, Granger?" he asked, feeling exhaustion sinking into his bones. It was bloody cold there. What was Granger doing at this window in the first place?

She yawned, covering her small pink mouth with a dainty hand. "You can ignore what I just told you. You can Oblivate me, and hope I don't make the same conclusions. Or you could go to Professor Dumbledore."

She yawned again, and moved her legs to the floor, standing slowly. "I'm not going to say anything," Hermione told him, face as serious as he had ever seen it. "Professor Dumbledore is far more intelligent that I am, and he probably knew the moment Professor McGonagall told him Katie was cursed. He can help you, if you want to be helped."

"And my family?" Draco asked, anger fading to helplessness. "The old man may be brilliant, but he's not a miracle worker."

Hermione stretched, blinking rapidly. "I never said he could walk on water. I just said he might help."

_What on earth is she talking about? Of course Dumbledore can walk on water, he's a wizard for Merlin's sake._ Draco stood as well, regarding her from his impressive height. She barely came up to his chest. "I don't know what I'm going to do."

She hesitated for a moment, biting her lip as she considered. "If you ever need to talk you know where to find me," she told him gravely. "No judgments."

"Sure," he drawled as sarcastically as he could. "And Weasley finally saved a goal and Potter developed more than three brain cells."

She laughed sadly. "Who knows?" she said wistfully. "It might happen."

They stood looking at each other cautiously. "I'll see you around, Malfoy," she said finally. "Don't do anything stupid."

"Bye, Granger," said Malfoy flatly. "Do us all a favor and tell Weasley that chocolate cake grows at the bottom of the Black Lake. Maybe he'll believe you and get eaten by the giant squid."

"Funny," she said, rolling her eyes. "Believe me, I would. Except I share a dorm with Lavender and she would be unbearable." With a wave of her hand, she started to walk away.

Before he could think it through, his hand darted forward to grab her wrist. It was small and fragile under his fingers, a tiny pulse beating underneath the cool skin. "Wait," he said, unnecessarily. "Why were you here?"

Her lips quirked up into a small smile again. "Sometimes it's exhausting to be Hermione Granger," she informed him. "Stuck with two boys like- well, like Harry and Ron. Too many thoughts, all at the same time. And then, every once in a while, a thread of doubt and a worry about my mortality."

He released her arm, and she left.

* * *

**This is Part One. Part Two will come out in a few days. **

**Hope you had a great birthday, ma belle. Tu me manques. **

**Love, ausland.**

**Review, please! I've never written Draco/ Hermione before, and I'm a little down because of some not-so-nice reviews I've been getting on my other story. Once I find the time to finish the other half of this, I'll post it. **


	2. Part Two

**Part Two! Yay!**

**Although, not many of you reviewed. ): That makes me as an author sad. **

**Hope you like Part Two. This was 's birthday present- she's my cousin and she lives an ocean away, so this is the best I could do for her. She loves Draco and Hermione, and... voila! This is where the T rated stuff comes in. Nothing heavy- only two kisses. Be warned. :)**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

The war was over. Voldemort was dead. All were rejoicing.

Except for Hermione Granger.

And Ron, she supposed. He was mourning his brother, gathered at the Burrow with the rest of his family. Harry was with them too- he and Ginny were more 'together' than they had ever been, and she had felt wrong just being around the Weasleys.

So there she was- finding herself at the same window she had gone to think melancholy thoughts and wonder if she would survive in those days, so long ago, when she had been safe. Before she had to delete herself from her parent's memories and wander the countryside, complete with semi-starvation and torture at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange.

It was almost summer, now. The grass around the Lake should have been fragrant and green, the trees of the Forbidden Forest a deep rich green with the spring leaves. Instead, the grounds of Hogwarts had been ravaged by giants and spell fire, leaving gaping brown holes in the earth. Hermione wanted to weep, but she couldn't find the tears. There had been too much crying in the past days, and even more holding back. She wasn't sure she could ever cry again.

The tapping of footsteps had her on high alert now, and when Draco Malfoy approached her this time there was a wand staring him in the face. He stood, looking down at her silently. The wand didn't waver, and she didn't lower it.

"Are you going to harm me now, Granger?" he asked finally. "You and Potter saved my life last night. It would be a joke if you killed me now."

She smiled wanly. "Lucky for you I'm not in a particularly funny mood today then." She rested the wand in her lap, but Malfoy noticed that the tip was still pointed at him and her fingers were still curled loosely around the handle.

He leaned against the wall, carefully, and crossed his arms across his chest in a defensive gesture. "Then what kind of mood are you in, Granger?"

"I'm not sure," Hermione answered truthfully. "I- people have died. Hogwarts is damaged. I am alone in the world. How should a normal person feel?"

Draco snorted elegantly, rolling his eyes. "Don't ask me what a normal person should feel. I witnessed the death of one of my oldest friends, was saved by the boy I've hated for years, defected, and then watched the aforementioned boy rise from the dead. My godfather is a dead spy, my aunt is dead, and my mother had a hand in the Dark Lord's demise. I'm so confused, I surprised I'm still breathing." He stopped his rant, glancing down at her to gauge her reaction.

One corner of her mouth twitched up again. "You tried to save us, when- well. Then." There was no need to specify. He understood. He hadn't wanted to see her bleeding all over his floor.

"Yeah," he said, somewhat sheepishly. "Auntie Bella would have been mad later if the Dark Lord hadn't tortured her beyond remembrance." His aunt's screams had echoed in his nightmares since. When Hermione's hadn't, at least.

"Thank you," Hermione said quietly, voice filled with gratitude.

Draco glared at her. "Why? It didn't help at all. They still knew who Potter was and _Bellatrix Lestrange_ tortured you." He had been sick with the images for days. Hermione screaming as she twisted under the curse, the blood running from her arm while his aunt perched over her, a sadistic smile on her face-

Hermione shrugged. "It's the thought that counts, I suppose? I feel like I should be thanking you. And your mother, for what happened with Harry. It was so close at the end-" she shuddered. "Any kindness on that day was welcomed."

He squirmed against the wall, choosing to stay silent. He searched for something to say, finally choosing to comment on her appearance. "You look like hell chewed you up and spat you out, Granger." She was dreadfully thin- she was in a simple long-sleeved grey cotton shirt and her collar bones jutted out of her pale skin. Her famed hair was a matted mess, and he was sure there was everything from blood to twigs stuck in it. The pale morning sun did her no favors, making the skin stretched tight over her fingers seem jaundiced and brittle. He found it hard to believe she was only eighteen.

"You don't look much better," she shot back. But then she glanced down at herself, and gave a hoarse laugh. "But yeah, I guess I do. Riding a bloody dragon out of Gringotts will do that to you. And spending months on the run without food." Warmth, she could conjure with a wave of her wand. Light, fire, water- but not food.

Part of that made him pause. "You rode a _dragon_ out of Gringotts?" he asked incredulously. "Why on earth would you do something so stupid?"

"We needed to rob the Lestrange vault," answered Hermione absentmindedly, twirling a curl around her finger. She seemed to have finally decided he wasn't a threat. "And things got complicated. We snuck in but we had to break out. And then we found a lake and we jumped off the dragon and I couldn't change like the boys could."

He sat down hard on the other end of the window seat. "You robbed Gringotts," he repeated, completely shocked. "You're off your bloody rocker, Granger."

"Hermione," she said suddenly. "We're not on opposite sides of a war anymore. And some of the insanity has to be your aunt's fault."

He winced. "Your motor control didn't look like it deteriorated." She had been a sight in battle. Flawless technique, a fierce grin on her face, and plenty of power. She had held her own against Bellatrix for at least five minutes before the Weaslette and Lovegood had come to her aid.

The impudent girl actually smirked. "I think that's the first compliment you've ever given me, Drakie," she simpered sweetly, in a stunning imitation of Pansy Parkinson. She broke out into laughter at the sight of his face. "Sorry. I couldn't resist."

"Merlin, Granger," he scowled. "Give a man a heart attack, would you." She just smirked wider, however, deepening his scowl. "And don't do that in front of Pansy- she'd use your guts for garter strings."

Hermione laughed slowly, and his eyes were drawn the pale throat framed by heavy curls. "Jealous, much?" she said, and his eyes snapped back to her face.

Suddenly, Draco frowned. "I don't know what happened to her," he murmured, considering the question for a moment. "I can't quite bring myself to care, however."

"She got out alright," Hermione answered immediately, fiddling with a curl. "She wanted to turn Harry over to Voldemort. Sprout made sure she was one of the first ones out."

Satisfied, he nodded. "That's Pansy. Slytherin to the core."

"And you're not?" Hermione asked bemusedly.

His gaze slid over to her. "Of course not," he said loftily. "The Hat considered putting me in Ravenclaw." It hadn't even made mention of Gryffindor, to his delight. Now though, he knew why. He had been a sniveling little coward at age eleven.

"Me too," she admitted. "But it said I would find friendship in Gryffindor and only books in Ravenclaw. I chose Gryffindor."

Draco shook his head. "Wrong choice, Granger."

"I could say the same for you," she countered, clearly relishing the fight. "Imagine if we had been in Ravenclaw."

"It wouldn't have made a difference for me," Draco admitted, keeping his face impassive. "Not with my family." He went quiet, mind racing to find a way to lighten the moment. "But for you- and Potter. He and Weasley would have died by now."

Hermione tried to smile. "And then where would we be?"

"I'd be alive and miserable under the Dark Lord," said Draco bluntly. He wasn't in the mood to sugarcoat things. It was also strangely tempting to talk with this girl. "You would either be dead or somewhere with your parents."

Hermione's face immediately clouded. He was immediately curious. "Why aren't you with them now?"

"Why aren't you?" she retorted, glaring. Her heart wasn't in it, though.

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours," he offered, hiding a laugh when she flushed. "Come off it, Granger. We're big kids now. And the whole school is buzzing about you and the Weasel."

She just looked out the window, staring at the war torn ground. "They're wrong, then. Kissing Ron was a mistake."

Draco shrugged. "I could have told you that years ago and saved you the trouble. So where are your parents? Or rather, why aren't you celebrating with them or bringing them out of hiding?" For some reason, he was glad she didn't like kissing the Weasel. It helped him solidify a plan he was considering, after shelving the idea for years…

"I erased, then rewrote my parent's memories to make them forget they ever had a daughter," Hermione said in a low, sad voice. "They have new names, a new life, and a new practice in Australia."

That completely shocked him. He knew he was staring at her- but he couldn't wrap his mind around it. "It takes plenty of purely concentrated power to erase memories. And then to just take one element out- and a person so closely interwoven in their lives- a child- how on Earth did you do that, Granger? That should be impossible, even for you!"

"I did what I had to do," Hermione snapped, pushing back her curls impatiently. "It was that or let them be killed."

"You're right about that," he told her, thinking back to one of the meetings before the fall term had started. "If you hadn't done that, they would be dead. The Dark Lord had minor Death Eaters searching for them since August."

Hermione sucked in a breath, bowing her head suddenly. Draco wondered if she was going to start crying, finding that he really didn't want her to cry. She was silent for a moment, then she slowly looked up again, meeting his grey eyes. "I- I think I needed to hear that."

Draco nodded once, sharply. "We all need to know that we made the right decisions sometimes." Hermione leaned against the wall, and closed her eyes.

"So why aren't you celebrating with your parents?" she asked slowly, eyes still closed. She opened them when she finished the question, regarding him with intelligent eyes.

Damn. She'd remembered. "My family is ruined, Granger. Our influence will mean nothing now. Our fortunes were the property of the Dark Lord, our house his palace… Mother has been sleeping. Father is trying to gather our lives up again. My life will never be the same again."

"None of our lives will ever be the same again," Hermione pointed out dryly. "If you try you can put this behind you. Turn the Malfoy name around. Did you ever really believe in the blood purity bullshit anyway?"

He raised one eyebrow. "You can say the word bullshit."

"What happened to we're all big boys and girls now?" Hermione muttered, blushing. "Yes, I curse."

_Interesting._ "To answer your question, yes. I did. It was all I had ever been told since I was old enough to understand the words my parents and nannies were saying." Draco met her eyes calmly. He wasn't going to be ashamed of who he was raised to be. "They told me that Mudbloods were freaks of nature and Purebloods would someday rule… that I would lord over them all because I was a Malfoy and Malfoys are always on top… I would have looks, money, influence. Everything anyone could ever want."

"And now?" Hermione asked, drawing up her knees to her chest. He guessed she was fingering her wand.

Draco looked down into the battle scarred grounds. "No. Not anymore. I figured out pretty early that it had to be a- well, they couldn't be right. I had proof staring me right in the face. I dismissed it, of course. A thirteen year old can't very well shift his entire worldview."

She smiled at him, gently. That was a shocker- if he had been less controlled, he would have gaped. "What let you figure it out?"

Ah. The embarrassing part. He unconsciously brought a hand up to rub the back of his neck. "You, actually. If they were right, a muggleborn couldn't be better than me. Or fight against my father and win."

Instead of smirking or taunting him, as he half expected, Hermione leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes again. "I'm honored," she said after a minute. "If you ever need to talk, you know where to find me."

"I suppose so," Draco said, standing and stretching. "I should get going." He glanced down at her, judging her position relative to his height. No, he decided. It would be better if she was standing.

She looked up at him, and smiled again. "I'm not stopping you."

He stuck his hand out awkwardly. "Friends?" he offered, refusing to look her in the eye. "Or, at least 'not enemies' for a change?"

Hermione stood, tucking an unruly curl behind her ear, reaching out with her other hand to take his. "Friends," she said determinedly. "So long as you promise to _never_ call anyone a Mudblood ever again."

"Promise." He hesitated for a moment, then pulled her to him and bent down, tilting his head to kiss her. She stiffened in his arms, but didn't try to pull away. He persisted, flicking his tongue against her lower lip, removing his hand from their handshake and putting it around her waist. The other hand went to her face, to cup her cheek.

It took a bit more prompting for her to open her mouth to his tongue, so he nipped her bottom lip gently as a reprimand. Her lips were slightly chapped from something- exposure, he guessed- and a little raw from where she bit her lower lip so often. She tasted sweet and light- but there was something that was darker, like honey. He closed the kiss gently, and pulled away, savoring the sight of Hermione Granger, lips red and open, head tilted up and eyes closed.

It was over in less than a few seconds though. Her eyes opened, her lips turned into a thin line, and her blissful expression morphed into one of rage.

"Why the hell did you do that, Malfoy!" she screeched, hands balling into fists at her sides.

Draco smirked at her. "I'm surprised you can still speak," he informed her cheekily. "Most girls can't after I kiss them."

"Well that's one more thing in your life that's changed," Hermione snapped. "Why did you kiss me?"

His smirk widened, and he looked her up in down in a way that clearly communicated he was picturing her naked. "Why not? You're not my enemy anymore, after all."

She smacked him across the chest, and he thanked whoever had taught him to school his expression that he didn't wince. She hit _hard._ Must be all those years of carrying books around, he assumed. "What was that for, Granger?"

"Why. Did. You. Kiss. Me?" growled the girl, glaring up at him. She was a full head shorter than he was, he remembered.

He sighed, holding up his hands. "Promise not to hit me anymore?"

"No chance," Hermione informed, crossing her arms around her chest. "Not a snowball's chance in bloody hell!"

"Uh… all right then," Draco said, frowning. "I've wanted to do that for a long time. Fourth year, actually. But we've always hated each other so I never got the chance."

Hermione gaped at him, completely taken by surprise. "Liar."

Draco glared. "I'm offended. And it wasn't as if I liked you or anything, I just wanted to see the expression on the Weasel's face."

Mollified by the admission, Hermione calmed down. "And now?" she said, lifting one eyebrow in an imitation on his godfather. She ruined the affect by reaching up to touch her lips.

He tried a disarming grin. It didn't work. Draco gave a small internal sigh, and shrugged. "I still want to see the expression on Weasley's face."

She scowled at him, face working into an adorable fierce expression. He liked it. "Not the best answer, Malfoy," she bit out. "Why?"

He thought about it- why would he want to kiss her? The image that came to mind was of a melancholy girl in the fall, staring out the window when she was supposed to be in class. The same picture had been imprinted in his memory when she lay screaming on his parlor floor, and when she spoke with such sadness about her parents.

"Because you were upset," he told her truthfully. "And strange as it sounds, I like you. After you get past all the bossy bookworm, there's… there's something underneath."

Hermione didn't speak, standing still and considering his answer. "Alright. I get it. Once you get past the arrogant, narcissistic jerk, there's something."

Draco nodded once, sharply. "Alright then. I suppose I'll see you around sometime later, Granger." He turned to go, but she held out a hand.

"Wait-" she said, hesitating and moving closer. "It was alright then? My dirty blood didn't repulse you?" There was a hard look in her fiery eyes, and he found his will crumbling under it.

"No," he breathed, noticing without desiring to how close they were. When she reached up and kissed him lightly on the lips, barely a brush, it was hardly a surprise.

She smiled mysteriously, and waved a hand. "See you around, Malfoy." She walked down the corridor a ways and turned the corner, disappearing from his sight.

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**I was a little disappointed by the amount of review from last time. Hopefully, you all liked this chapter better. :)**

**I think this is the end- you can imagine where it goes from here. If enough people beg me, I'll write an epilogue. **

**On the other hand, first week of school, done! One week of DP down, and about 70 more to go. Lovely.**

**Please review and give a little encouragement. I hope you liked this little Two-Part story!**


	3. Part 3

**Just a quick author's note, because I really have to get to my physics homework. Anyone who can explain electric fields to me can request another chapter. **

**I hope you enjoy this- and once again, I'll say that it is over and probably feel compelled to write another chapter in a month. Thank you for all the lovely reviews.**

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The hall was filled with people, flittering in robes of green and gold, bronze and umber. Witches and wizards flocked to colorful groups, then split again into another swirl of laughing faces and gesturing hands.

Hermione Granger, however, watched the festivities from a dimly lit corner of the large room, sipping at a cup of wine as she followed various friends and housemates around the dance floor. After the speeches were finished and the awards handed out, it seemed like her work was done. Harry was dancing with Luna as Ginny watched on possessively, and Ron was chatting awkwardly with Lavender as she hung onto Dean Thomas' arm and batted her eyes at the ruffled redhead.

Hermione snorted delicately, and tossed her head disdainfully. She didn't have enough patience for Ron's attempted flirtations, especially since he expected her to help him navigate through every forgotten birthday and unappreciated comment.

"Weasley's making a fool of himself again," a haughty voice said, slightly to her left. The even haughtier face of Draco Malfoy met her eyes when she turned her head in surprise. He was looking out into the crowd, a slight sneer pasted on his face. He looked every part the gallant wizard- tailored robes, blond hair artfully tousled without being messy, and glass of champagne in hand that Hermione suspected had been manicured.

"Malfoy," said Hermione, a small smile flitting across her face before it returned to its former impassive state.

His head inclined in the barest approximation of a nod. "Granger."

They returned to watching the Victory Ball, quietly sipping their drinks. Draco spoke first. "You're not going to reprimand me for mocking Weasley?"

"That would be hypocritical," Hermione replied, a hint of wry humor in her voice. "Since I feel the same way myself." She glanced up at the same time he looked up; their eyes met and she gave him a small smile before returning her attentions to the sights before her.

Draco yawned, glanced around, then tugged discretely at his collar. At Hermione's raised eyebrow, he scowled. "These things itch, Granger."

"You can call me Hermione, you know," was all the woman said. "After all, you did accost me in the corridor last year."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Draco asked, a tad indignant.

Hermione shook her head slowly. "Gods, you boys are hopeless," she muttered. "Because I would prefer to think that I am on at least a first-name basis with people I've kissed."

Apparently, that made sense to Draco. "Well then, _Hermione,_" he drawled, "I'll respect your sense of-"

"Decency," Hermione finished firmly. "My sense of decency. I'm not a common slag, you know."

His grey eyes burned hot for a moment. "I know," he answered. "It wasn't my intention to treat you like-"

"You didn't," Hermione interrupted again. "And I did kiss you back, you know."

He nodded, conceding the point in his head. "And then you avoided me for a year." He didn't wince, as much as he wanted to. That stung, a bit.

"That I did," agreed Hermione. "At least at first. But then I got busy." She shrugged unapologetically. "Sorry."

Draco snorted, but then lifted his glass to her, actions heavily sarcastic. "I forgot. Congratulations on your position. Youngest Unspeakable ever. Not even twenty and already you've discovered a way to unweave the ancient magic of the Widow's Veil." It was true- Hermione Granger had officially broken the magic of the archway in the Department of Mysteries, ending the tempting call of the enchanted object. No one else would ever fall through and die again.

Her eyes slid over him, hooded with distaste. "Not soon enough. To many disappeared into that abomination." Their gazes returned to the dance floor. Harry was now spinning an ecstatic Ginny in his arms, and Ron was sulking around the bar.

"Aren't you going to go cut of Weasley?" Draco asked after a moment.

"I'm not his mother any more than I am yours," Hermione replied steadily. "If he has a hangover in the morning, it's his own bloody fault."

Draco smirked. "Watch the tongue, Granger. You're in polite company, you know."

"Don't make me laugh, Draco," Hermione said with a snort. "You're no more polite company than I am the Minister of Magic."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "So I should get back to you on that in fifteen years?" he suggested. "Everyone is waiting for the brightest witch of the age to take the position of the head of Magical government in Great Britain. They'll be clamoring for it in ten years. I guess you'll give into the overwhelming pressure before you turn thirty."

"Unlike you I'm not interested in running for office," Hermione said, with an air of a line much repeated. "Maybe I want to bury myself in research and fade into obscurity."

Sighing, Draco took a hearty swig of champagne. "Well, you're doing a good job of it. Sitting in a corner, dressed like a widow…" It was true. Hermione was in long black dress robes, robes that rose to a high lacy collar with sleeves that clung tight to her wrists.

"It's your aunt's fault," snapped Hermione. "You were there when she gave me all those goddamn scars." The previously friendly air turned slightly cold and unwelcoming at her words- Draco shifted uncomfortably and Hermione ran her fingers over the lace-covered word on her arm.

He looked at her again, and reluctantly, she turned her head to look him in the eye. "I've apologized for that before," he said in a low voice, eyes soft. "I'll do it again."

Hermione gave him a small smile. "That's something I never thought I'd see," she murmured. "Draco Malfoy apologizing to a-" she broke off what she was going to say. "Have you really changed? Or is this a politician's act to return to the good graces of the public?" Her gaze, if it was possible, was full of disinterested curiosity. It was as if she did want to know the answer, but she wasn't hinging anything on what he said.

"You wound me," Draco deadpanned, laying a smooth hand over his heart. "Really. I'm injured."

To her surprise, Hermione found herself laughing. "Come off it," she ordered. "What's to say that you're not chatting me up so you can be the Minister of Magic in ten years?"

He shrugged, and leaned against the wall. His position was so like the one he had taken up all those months ago that she drew in a shaky breath. "Nothing, I suppose. But I'm telling you I'm not."

She stared at him for a long moment, eyes searching his face. "Alright," she said finally. "So you're not doing this to garner the approval of the common masses."

"If I wanted to do that I'd pay Skeeter to write a really sympathetic article about me," Draco said, shrugging again. "And then get her to write one discrediting you to make sure I'd win the election."

Hermione tutted, shaking a finger. "Nope. Wouldn't work."

Draco rolled his eyes, expression sarcastically disappointed. "Darn. Care to tell me why so I can work it into my plan for world domination?"

"Not a chance," Hermione said, smirking at him. "And I'm afraid that if you ever tried to rule the world I'd have to step in and stop you."

The blond boy mock glared at her. "Fine. I'll stick to pulling strings behind the scenes."

"Whatever you say, puppet-master," replied Hermione, hiding her smile with sarcasm.

"Dance with me," Draco said suddenly.

Hermione whipped her head around and glared. "No."

"Why not?" he wheedled. "My glass is empty, your glass is empty, and I feel like dancing. And you did say, 'whatever you say,' so you kind of have to dance with me."

"Nope," Hermione said again, folding her arms resolutely. "And my glass isn't empty."

Sighing, Draco swooped down and stole the slender flute from her fingers, draining it in one large gulp. "Now it is. Dance with me."

Hermione cast her glance around the room, then patted her hair nervously. "No."

"You look fine if that's what's bothering you," said Draco impatiently. "Less slag-like than Brown, less matronly than McGonagall. Let's go."

She bit her lip, and suddenly, all Draco could remember was how they had looked a year ago, red and wet and open for him…

"I can't dance," she lied nervously. "I'd step on your feet."

"Liar," Draco said immediately. "You danced perfectly well with Krum at the Yule Ball and he had two left feet."

She glared at him, and he just smirked at her. "I'm not giving up any time soon," Draco informed her, smirk widening. "You're going to dance with me tonight if I have to drag on up there."

"Why do you want to dance with me?" Hermione asked, huffing with exasperation. Draco thought she looked adorable when annoyed. That thought didn't bother him as much as it would have a year ago. Lately, he had found himself staring after her as she rushed down to the Department of Mysteries horribly late and looking like a tumbleweed was stuck to her head, or following the path she had made through the crowd at the Ministry to find a trace of her perfume.

But she didn't need to know that. "Why not?" Draco answered. "I would rather dance with you than the Weaslette or Pansy. Weasley would try and step on my feet every other step while Potter and the other Weasleys glare at me, and Pansy would simper and completely fail to be subtle when she tries to hint that we should reinstate our betrothal. At least you have something intelligent to say and you don't hate my guts."

Hermione sighed, then nodded at him. "Alright. Let's dance."

He couldn't contain his smirk as he offered his arm, and she accepted it. The last dance, a foxtrot, ended and more couples were leaving the dance floor than were entering. Earlier in the evening it had been so crowded that even with his expert maneuvering skills, he had bumped into a few people.

Hermione curtseyed and he bowed, as protocol demanded- at a Ball as formal as this one, every pompous tradition was followed to a tee. They came together smoothly, the hand not on his shoulder warm and soft in his. Her waist was tiny, but not as small as it had been a year ago. She filled out nicely, he thought, when she was eating regularly.

For Hermione, it was strange being so close to a boy she had disliked for so long. Now she wasn't sure- he was tall and warm near her, and his cologne smelled… the best word she had for it was _manly_ and she wanted to roll her eyes at that but she couldn't. Instead, she was focusing on moving her feet in time with his.

"Relax, Granger," he said under his breath. "Just let me lead."

She took in a slightly shaky breath. "Sorry," she replied, un-tensing her muscles. "The last time I danced was at… at Bill's wedding."

"The Weasley who married the half-veela?" Draco asked, deftly guiding them through two couples to get away from a disastrously clumsy Neville Longbottom dancing with Hannah Abbott.

Hermione nodded. It really was easier if she just let him guide her, she was realizing. It was really quite fun to dance with someone who knew what they were doing. "Quarter-veela," she corrected absentmindedly. "Harry told me her grandmother was a full veela."

Draco moved closer to her, leaning down to whisper, "And speaking of Potter, look at how far his jaw dropped. We might have to take him to one of those Muggle mouth Healers." Hermione drew in another unsteady breath with his closeness. It had been a long time since she had been near someone so… male. So tempting. He was sexy, and he knew it. So different from the shyly awkward Harry, or the oblivious Ron.

On the next spin, she caught their reactions. Draco hadn't exaggerated much- their mouths were hanging open in a most un-charming way. She had to bite back a laugh when she returned to Draco's arms. "Oh dear," she laughed, almost missing the next step. "They really do look shocked."

"Understatement of the century," Draco said, with a short laugh of his own. "They look like their best friend stole their krup, then let it loose to run back to them before viciously running it over with a white van painted with happy Dementors."

Hermione giggled, delight bringing lovely roses to her cheeks. "Is that a common situation in the Wizarding world?" she asked, smiling at him. "Can Dementors look happy? And why did you choose a white van?"

Draco shook his head in mock irritation. "Really, Hermione," he drawled. "Of all the questions you go for, 'why did you choose a white van?' is the one you pick?"

"Only if you ignore the first two I asked," Hermione replied tartly. "Prat." She was treating him like she would have treated Harry or Ron- except she and Ron hadn't really talked in months and Harry was too busy getting a life together with Ginny to spend time with her.

"Insufferable know-it-all," he shot back at her. "And for your information, I have seen a happy Dementor. Not the most pleasant sight, but it was most definitely happy." He artfully spun her, making her laugh out loud in delight as he reclaimed her. His arms held her tight- as wrong as it seemed, she felt safe.

Ron had made his way over to Harry, and the two were gesturing wildly. When Hermione glanced over to them again, her stomach clenched. Draco noticed the worried look in her face- he frowned as he considered the two boys. Potter, always ready to rush head in. Weasley, always ready to do whatever Potter told him. Buffons, the two of them.

"Do you want to go somewhere more private," he whispered, leaning in so his soft words would reach her ear. His face broke into a small smirk at the way she shivered when his warm breath reached the gentle shell of her ear- she definitely remembered that devastated sunlit afternoon.

She peeked up at him, a change from her usually more confident demeanor. "Sure," she whispered back. "Harry and Ron look about ready to explode."

He scanned the dance floor, mentally creating a path that led them closest to the door- then he began moving with a purpose, pulling Hermione to him and waltzing over to the edge of the floor. He led them off the raised portion of the floor, then offered her his arm. She accepted it, and he hastily swept them out to the halls of the Ministry.

"Did they see us?" Hermione murmured, leaning into Draco to glance behind them. "I hope not. They'll be more likely to kill you if we're out here and without witnesses."

Draco scoffed at the notion- he was more than a match for Weasley or Potter. Or Weasley _and_ Potter. "Let them try." They were moving quickly through the quiet, still halls. Draco knew the like the back of his hand- he had been wandering the Ministry with his father since he was ten.

Hermione shrugged. "Don't be so cocky," she warned. "Harry is really an amazing duelist. And Ron isn't half bad either."

"I don't believe you," Draco said, snorting delicately. "I know you can duel. But do you remember when that fool Lockhart was there and we had the dueling club?"

The memory was too much- Hermione laughed out loud. "That was hilarious, in retrospect and if you ignore the incident afterward. But yes, I remember." They made it to the Atrium- the fountain had been rebuilt, but instead of the collection of species, it was a black wall inscribed with the names of those who had died in the war. They had wanted to put three statues- Harry, Hermione, and Ron- in its place, but Hermione had put her foot down and flatly refused. Harry had seconded that motion, and Ron had grudgingly conceded that it wasn't good taste.

"Then you know that if I had used just about any other spell that didn't involve the one animal he can speak to, I would have won that duel." They had stopped at one of the many benches around the Atrium. Hermione swept her skirts to the side and sat down, Draco joining her after a moment of consideration.

Hermione shook her head, then looked up to stare Draco straight in the eye. "That duel, maybe. But ever since the DA, Harry's been the best. He's the one who taught me."

Draco appeared slightly put out at that- Hermione was certain that if he had been just five years younger, his lower lip would have slid out in a pout. "Nevertheless. I'd still beat him."

"If you say so," Hermione replied, a devious little smile on her face.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to the far-away strains of music from the Ball, and the laughter of the happy people.

"A year ago, Harry killed him forever," Hermione said softly, almost under her breath. Draco could hear her perfectly though- other than the faint melodies and chatter, the Atrium was completely empty. "And the nightmare ended."

When she looked over at him, his head was tilted back on the cold grey stone. His eyes were closed and his face clear of wrinkles- he looked like a young Lucius Malfoy. "Your nightmare ended," Draco breathed. "Mine… mine morphed. I went from fear of death under a tyrannical manic to fear of having my soul sucked out by Dementors because I didn't want my parents to die."

"I'm sorry," Hermione whispered, drawing her knees up to her chest, not caring she was wrinkling her dress. "I'm so sorry."

Draco turned his head to look at her, face suddenly vulnerable. "I never said thank you," he muttered after a moment. "For getting me off."

"I just testified," Hermione told him gently. "I didn't do anything-"

"You testified on my behalf," Draco interrupted. "And- and you told them it didn't matter that I stood by and watched you scream because I tried to get you out of it."

The woman's cheeks reddened slightly. "You did. I remember. I- the nightmares haven't gone away yet."

Draco kept his gaze on here. "Mine either," he told her truthfully. "I don't think they ever will. What about you?"

"Maybe someday," Hermione said wistfully. "But I've been wrong before. I didn't think we were going to get out alive, remember?" Their voices echoed softly in the large stone anteroom, bouncing around and giving strange intonations.

They were sitting facing each other, each with one side of their heads on the cool stone. Hermione's eyes were solemn, long lashes hitting her cheeks each time she blinked. Her hair was still as unmanageable as ever, her nose a trifle too thin for her face. Draco could remember the delicate feel of her face in his palm, like a frail little bird with bones that would snap if he pressed too hard.

"And yet, here we are," murmured Draco, voice dipping lower than it usually did. "Alive and- breathing. We're breathing."

"That we are," Hermione agreed. "Are you happier, now?"

Draco considered for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders. "Yes. I mean, we're not in the middle of a war anymore. I just don't know what I want to do. It was either die or rise to become the Dark Lord's right hand. And now…"

"And now we are the lost generation," Hermione finished for him, the unflinching understanding she was projecting comforting the Slytherin prince. "For we expected nothing more than death, and yet we have life. The questions now is what to do with it. It's a shame- no, it's a crime to waste it. Too many people died, good and bad. And it seems like anything ordinary would be a waste as well- we were granted this gift, shouldn't we use it? And yet… only a few people can be extraordinary."

Her soft, melodic voice was dancing around his head and soothing his tired features. "But you can be extraordinary. All I can be is a Malfoy."

"Then be one," she exclaimed. "You have money, you have looks, you have charm. Make things better. Do something. Become more than a name."

He raised one eyebrow. "That sounds way too fucking cliché, Granger."

"You sound fucking pathetic, Malfoy," she spat back. "Do something!"

And he did- he leaned over and kissed her hard, pulling her up to press her to the wall next to the bench. The cold, unfeeling stones dug into her back, a sharp contrast to the warm and very male body pressed against her front. Draco Malfoy's lips were harsh against hers, his tongue taking her mouth as one hand wound itself in her heavy curls.

Hermione eyes were wide open, staring right into his grey ones. He smirked against her lips, deliberately moving the hand that was safely on her waist up. She gasped- and he renewed his attack for a few moments before pulling away to suck on her neck. Her hands went to his head- but to pull him away or hold him there she didn't know.

"Well, Hermione?" She could feel the vibration rumbling in his chest, and his hot breath on her ear. "Is this something enough for you?"

He could fell her heart pounding hard beneath the thin black fabric of her robes, and it made him feel good- alive, powerful, and wanted. When Hermione let out what might have been a small, strangled moan, he bid down on her earlobe. "Yes," she breathed. "Gods- Draco-" The smell of his cologne was tempting and the white throat he was presenting her with seemed too good to be true.

Draco moved back to her lips, kissing her sweetly now instead of roughly, like he had before. The hand moved back to the smooth curve of her waist, and the hand in her hair moved to cup her face. He enjoyed it for a few moments longer, then pulled away to look down at his handiwork.

Her lips were red, which he had expected. He liked the hickey on her neck very much- he would have to do that again. "Alright then," he said, unable to contain the smile that emerged on his face. "Would you care to have lunch with me tomorrow?"

She stared back at him, incredulous. "Sure. Start at the first date stuff _after_ trying to snog my brains out."

"Well?" he pressed, patting his hair to smooth it down. "I'll get us reservations at La Belle Fille. Excellent savory crepes."

Hermione leaned back against the wall, closing her eyes, somehow projecting both exasperation and happiness at the same time. "Fine. You can stop by my office at twelve."

The grin he gave her was victorious- it did something to her insides to know he was this happy because he had scored a date with her. "Good. Come prepared with happy things to talk about. It seems that every time we talk we end up dwelling on morbidity and mortality."

"Only if you come without a pretentious attitude," Hermione shot back, running her fingers through her hair and grimacing when they stuck. "Great. You've made a mess of my hair."

"It was already a mess," Draco said offhand. "I'll see you tomorrow."

He glanced at her, hands stuffed in his pockets- all very elegantly of course. Something clicked- as if he had made a decision and was going to carry it through. He took two quick strides to her, kissed her lightly on the lips, mouth closed, then walked away. He couldn't help but glance back a few steps later, and was gratified to see her standing still, fingertips pressed to her lips.

Ron and Harry found Hermione fifteen minutes later, sitting on the bench deep in thought. They looked at each other, then at her again.

"Hermione?" ventured Harry carefully. "Is everything alright?"

Ron burst in, unable to control himself. "We saw you dancing with Malfoy and then you left so we weren't sure if you were okay. We saw the prat leave a few minutes ago, though, so we headed in this direction and found you."

As much as she wanted to laugh, Hermione shook her head, stood up, and smoothed out her skirts. "I'm fine," she assured them, smiling mysteriously. "But I should get home now."

"Why?" asked Ron, head turning in the direction of the party. "The Ball won't be over for another three hours."

Hermione grinned again, anticipating the shock. "I have a date tomorrow with Draco," she said as flippantly as she could manage. "I'll need to get into the office early so I can have more time for lunch." And so she left them, surprised and horrified beyond belief.

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**So. The end. Again. I think I really will leave it at that this time. Quite a lengthy birthday present, Gwen, don't you think? :)**

**Tell me what you thought as always. Hopefully, that is enough of a resolution for all of you. Wish me luck- not only do I have an awful cold/flu/sore throat type thing, but I have a Physics quiz, Math Studies quiz, French presentation, Economics quiz, AND tomorrow is picture day. All of that is going on tomorrow. I feel screwed already. **

**Leave me a review and make me feel better!**


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